


a too-familiar strangeness

by quantumducky



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic, my brain's not working anymore what are tags, pre-160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky
Summary: Inspired by this tumblr post: https://dave-striiider.tumblr.com/post/189325483427/the-first-time-jon-wakes-up-in-the-safehouse-hesJon doesn't react well, anymore, to waking up in unfamiliar places.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 424





	a too-familiar strangeness

**Author's Note:**

> keep saying i'm gonna post something other than jon angst. keep not doing that. maybe next time

Jon wakes with a jolt, straight out of nightmares, and has barely opened his eyes and started to remember how breathing works when he realizes something is very wrong. Everything is blurry at the moment, but he knows he doesn’t recognize the room around him as any of the places he normally sleeps. He reaches for his glasses- or at least tries to. His arms won’t move, feeling numb and trapped. He is suddenly very cold.

_ No, no, not again, not now, please…  _

It doesn’t change anything, of course. He’s still waking up in a strange place, restrained- he doesn’t dare test that any further, not when he’s still struggling to breathe normally and someone could come into the room and catch him at any moment. And getting caught trying to free himself… well, he had enough experience of  _ that _ with Orsinov. It didn’t take long to learn how much easier and safer it was to just stay still and let his captors do as they wanted. Maybe this time, at least, whoever has him will be more familiar with human things like “needing to eat regularly.” Although he’s not entirely sure how much that applies to him anymore.

A floorboard squeaks in the hallway outside the room. Jon inhales sharply and then bites down hard on his lip to silence himself, but no amount of force can stop the way his entire body has apparently decided to start shaking.  _ They’re coming in, they’re going to- _ He cuts his thoughts off, snapping back mentally that he won’t know what they’re going to do to him until they do it, will he? Somehow it doesn’t help much. Footsteps approach and stop where he assumes the door is, and he shuts his eyes tight and tries to hide his face, willing himself to appear asleep despite his racing heart and inability to calm his breathing.

The door opens, and he’s trying so hard to keep himself quiet he thinks he can taste blood for a second, and then someone walks in and stands right by the bed he’s on, and he’s  _ sure _ it must be obvious he’s fully awake and fully  _ panicking _ but they just  _ stand there, _ not saying anything or doing anything or, or…  _ anything. _

A hand touches his shoulder. Jon shudders, swallows down a terrified little noise and stays as still as he can, hoping against hope they’ll leave after all.

And then: “Jon? Are you awake?”

That… that can’t be right.

Before he can think better of it, Jon opens his eyes and it’s- it really  _ looks _ like Martin, standing over him. Smiling gently. But that doesn’t make any sense and so Jon doesn’t let his guard down, reminds himself it could be a trick, but possibly-Martin looks like he expects some kind of response now that Jon isn’t poorly faking sleep any longer. He opens his mouth, struggles for words, and finally just blurts,  _ “Martin?” _

There’s… more than a touch of compulsion in there. Jon suspects he might not be allowed to speak again, for that, but he has to  _ know. _

“Yes, Jon, it’s me,” he says, a little confused and a little worried, and the air rushes out of Jon’s lungs in one relieved breath. “Who else…?” He shakes his head, doesn’t quite finish the question.

Jon is barely paying attention to what he’s saying anymore. If it’s Martin then- then at least he won’t hurt him, right? Not without a good reason, not any more than Jon deserves, being what he is. Martin isn’t cruel like that. Jon doesn’t know why exactly he would decide to… do this, but it’s not as if there aren’t a thousand reasons it might be for the best to keep him  _ contained. _ He’s still fighting down his panic, of course, but  _ at least it’s him, _ he tells himself over and over.  _ It could be worse. _

Oh, he’s been talking, shit. “Jon! Can you still hear me?” 

Jon is aware his eyes have probably glazed over, and tries to shake himself out of it, hoping Martin isn’t angry. He looks up and focuses on him as best he can. He… does look a bit unhappy, although it’s hard to make out, and Jon shrinks from it reflexively. “I’m sorry,” the words tumble from his mouth in a rush, “I-I’m listening.”  _ Please don’t be angry, _ he only just holds back.

Martin frowns, steps forward and brushes Jon’s hair out of his face for a better look at his tense, scared expression. “I was just trying to ask if you’re ready for breakfast, but- what’s wrong? Were you having nightmares again- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone as long as I was…”

He just sounds… worried. Of course. Shame over having expected any worse of him hits Jon in tandem with a second wave of relief, and the next thing he knows he’s blinking back tears without success, succumbing to the emotional rollercoaster he’s gone through since waking up and trying to convince the still-panicked part of himself that Martin really can be trusted.

“Where am I,” he manages, voice breaking, clawing back the compulsion that tries to slip out again.

“Oh,” Martin breathes, and sits at the edge of the bed cautiously. He almost reaches out to Jon again before stopping himself, something like guilt flashing over his face. “Hey, calm down, just- try to breathe slow for me, okay? We’re in Daisy’s safehouse, in Scotland.” He shifts Jon just a little on the bed and extracts one of his hands from where it’s tucked underneath his body in order to twine their fingers together. Jon blinks up at him for a long few seconds, wide-eyed, trying to push past the pins-and-needles feeling of his arm enough to think clearly and make  _ sense _ of that. He’s still staring when Martin finds his glasses and carefully slides them onto his face for him.

And. Yes. He does… remember this room. So Martin is right. And that’s about as far as he gets before reaching the edge of what his brain can currently process without his thoughts going painfully fuzzy.

“I thought,” he begins, “I, I thought I was…” and then stops, can’t quite say it out loud, at least not so bluntly. Martin just nods,  _ take your time, _ and waits while he turns onto his back and shakes the staticky feeling out of his other arm. That makes it a little easier. “When I woke up,” he tries again, “I… I didn’t recognize- where I was, and- I couldn’t… move my arms. A-and, so, I thought…”

Now that Jon has his glasses on, he can see all too clearly the sad, pained look on Martin’s face. He has to close his eyes for a second and take a deep breath before responding.

“I’m so sorry, Jon. Even… even after you knew who I was?”

“I…” He winces and ducks his head a little. There’s no way to make this sound any better. “I thought- if you had- taken me somewhere- I figured I must have done something to warrant it? I was, I was having trouble  _ remembering _ at the time-”

_ “Jon.” _

“I  _ know,” _ he says a bit miserably. “I’m sorry.” Maybe it’s residual fear that makes him flinch back from the angry sigh Martin lets out, even while knowing the anger isn’t directed at  _ him. _ Either way, he looks guilty immediately and softens.

“No, don’t apologize, you’ve… had a bad morning, haven’t you.” Not really a question. Martin hesitates, and it’s all too clear in his eyes that this isn’t going to stop bothering him for a very long time. “Okay. What do you need right now?”

Jon just looks at him, confused. Shakes his head slightly. Nothing is even  _ wrong, _ so all he actually needs is to hurry up and get over that… embarrassing overreaction. Right?

Either he’s said something out loud by accident, or Martin knows him entirely too well.  _ “Don’t _ try to say it was nothing,” he insists. Then when Jon doesn’t look entirely convinced, “You wouldn’t say that if it was me, would you?”

He thinks about that, Martin waking up and not knowing where he was and panicking, and shivers at how very easily he can picture it. “No- no, of course not.” He pushes himself up to a sitting position, slumped with the fatigue of waking up to fear, and finally properly returns the grip on his hand.

“Right,” says Martin, and it’s easy to follow his point even without having it spelled out. “So?”

So. What  _ does _ he need? Nothing, insists the voice in Jon’s head. He could get up right now and be perfectly functional regardless of the shitshow that is to be his brain today. But Martin won’t accept that, so he tries again: what does he  _ want, _ then?

“Could…” He swallows. “Could you just sit with me? I need- time, I think, to, to put my mind in order. I’d… rather not do it alone.” He stops himself talking before he can hedge,  _ only if you don’t have anything better to do, _ or try to retract the request entirely.

For his part, Martin doesn’t leave him any time at all to get uncertain in the silence before agreeing, “Sure, of course.” He’s already sitting on the bed, but he settles in place more, leaning back against the headboard with an encouraging smile. “Long as you want.”

And yes, Jon was right. Just his presence, in combination with the unrelenting cheerfulness of the sun coming through the windows, makes him feel that little bit steadier and more grounded in reality. He sits next to him, matching his posture unconsciously, and starts trying to  _ actually _ calm down rather than just mustering a half-decent impression thereof. Starts untangling the bits of nightmares he didn’t quite shake upon waking, mixed up with his mess of panicked feelings and half-recalled traumatic memories, from the truth of where they are and how they got there- hearing it from Martin still isn’t the same as  _ knowing _ it for himself. 

As the tension slowly leaves his body the more he reminds himself of what is real, he gradually ends up leaning his weight into Martin rather than hold himself up, who accepts this development like he expected it all along. It’s nice, comforting- Martin is good at that. Jon just wishes he could stop thinking about the all too recent memory of his earlier… confusion: how terribly easy it had been, in that state, to look at  _ him _ of all people and still not fully trust that he wasn’t going to be hurt. It won’t be too long now before he’s ready to get up, start the day and try to push all of this from his mind. But that thought, in particular, is not going to be leaving him any time soon.


End file.
